


and you're the only place that feels like home

by smallredboy



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Coming Out, M/M, Making Out, Sexual Humor, Trans Character, Trans Greg House, mlm author, set around season 2 ? fucked if i know, this is UHHH gay, trans author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-02 07:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16300610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/smallredboy
Summary: House decides to come out to Wilson; it goes better than he expected.





	and you're the only place that feels like home

**Author's Note:**

> i love trans house so much.. this has been sitting on my drafts for ages and i finally polished it up and put it here! title from 'i slept with someone in fall out boy and all i got was this stupid song written about me'.
> 
> enjoy!!

House still isn’t sure how Wilson isn’t hyper-aware of it yet. How he hasn’t asked why he never strips down around him — when Wilson has multiple times. How he hasn’t asked why he’s got these almost invisible scars on his chest. How he hasn’t noticed his testosterone vials all over wherever he’s staying.

Maybe he’s just playing dumb. Maybe he doesn’t wanna make an awkward ‘I support you’ spiel. He's staying at Wilson's place— when is he not, really? And he's got his testosterone shots in his place in the house, hidden away for Wilson to not see them.    
  
He swallows, takes a breath, pops a Vicodin, and takes the syringe and the familiar vial before going back to the living room. Wilson is there, looking comfortable as hell— there's one show or another on TV and Wilson is trying to seem like he's watching it.    
  
House plops down on the couch, hissing a little because of his leg. He taps Wilson's shoulder and he turns, his eyes gleaming.    
  
"Guess what this vial has," House says, shaking his testosterone vial a little and showing Wilson the syringe next.    
  
Wilson raises a brow. “House, I told you no drugs in my house.”

House pouts, gives him this kicked puppy look he's perfected. Not as much as Wilson has— he has that look down cold. “Guess.”

Wilson hums. “Heroin?”

“Nope. You can do better than that.”

“Morphine?” A pause. Wilson looks thoughtful. “You seem like you're trying to tell me something.”   
  
"I am." He pauses for a second, looks at the testosterone vial. He's been taking this stupid thing for the last thirty years and it's the only reason why he looks like he does right now. "Now guess."   
  
"Just tell me," he insists. "You're just winning some extra time by making me guess."   
  
He sucks in a breath. Wilson is right about that. "It's testosterone."   
  
Wilson gives him a mildly amused smile and a completely blank look. "You know aging is normal, right? You don't have to take testosterone.”   
  
"You're dumbing yourself down on purpose," he groans.    
  
"What else would you use testosterone for?"   
  
"Well, *what* else can you use testosterone for, Wilson?" he asks, cocking his head. "You're a doctor for a reason."   
  
Wilson snorts, his expression lacking amusement. “Testosterone deficiency and aging, primarily." He doubts, and his brows furrow. "And hormone replacement therapy."   
  
"Finally," House groans, leaning back against the couch.    
  
"What?" he immediately exclaims. "It's HRT? You're kidding, right?"   
  
House takes the TV remote from Wilson's hand and changes the channel. It falls on a cooking show, and he switches again.    
  
"House," he insists softly, his voice incredulous. House is glad, even if for a second, that he's perfected his douchebag cis man image so well. "No way you're transgender."   
  
He groans and pops another Vicodin pill. Wilson's a headache sometimes, especially now, but his response doesn't seem *negative*, per se. "Do you want me to pull my pants down for proof or?"    
  
Wilson huffs and shakes his head. He looks unamused, and House wishes he was joking about all this. Wishes he was born with a dick so he didn't have to go through so much just so people wouldn't know he wasn't born with one.    
  
"I still don't believe you, even with that threat."   
  
"So be it, smartass," House grumbles, unzipping his fly and pulling his pants and boxers down.    
  
Wilson stares at House's crotch area for what seems and feels like ages. His eyes are wide with shock, and House almost wants to laugh. He's been terrified of it being obvious for decades, and Wilson looks like he's thinking this is an especially vivid dream.    
  
There's coarse hair along his crotch area— he's never bothered shaving it— but the absence of what *should* be there is blatant. *No balls to speak of*, he remembers being told by an attempted hookup who kicked him in the shin after he came out to him.    
  
"Oh," Wilson mumbles.    
  
" _Oh_ ," House echoes mockingly and pulls his pants back on.    
  
"How didn't I find out before? We've been friends for twenty years..."   
  
"Nobody but Stacy, Cuddy and all the hookers I've hired know," he replies, stretching a little. "And now you."   
  
Wilson's expression is unreadable, but it's nowhere near negative. "You're good at keeping secrets."   
  
House chuckles dryly. "You know it, honey."   
  
Wilson flushes pink and he puts a hand on House's thigh, avoiding his scar. He's seen it three or four times before; when he put his pants down while wearing a packer. Nobody could know, and so he made sure to give himself a bulge.    
  
"What... are you doing?" House asks a little stiffly. Wilson just found out he's a trans man and he seems to be prepositioning him.    
  
"I mean," Wilson starts, eyes gleaming and his smile wide and shiny. "You just told me only people who have slept with you know."   
  
House's heart thumps dangerously fast. Wilson wants to sleep with him. But what if he's— "Aren't you straight?"   
  
And Wilson laughs, an electric sound that goes through House's body. It's addictive to hear Wilson laugh, more addictive than Vicodin, and House wants to hear him laugh when he's on top of him.    
  
"House, you're a fucking idiot."   
  
He lets himself laugh, too. "Tell me something I don't know."   
  
Wilson snorts and he gets closer to him, always careful and way too kind when House is *like that* all the time. He puts a hand on House's side and closes the distance between them, hot breath into House's face. House is pretty sure that he can hear Wilson's heart thumping just as hard as his own.    
  
"Can I?" Wilson asks, lips mere inches away from his own.    
  
"You careful ass," House groans, grabbing his face and pulling him closer. He kisses him hungrily and messily like it's the last thing he will ever do. And maybe it will, by how fast his heart is beating.    
  
Wilson groans softly when he pulls away. "Fuck, House," he breathes.    
  
"That's what I'm tryna do."   
  
Wilson laughs and kisses him again. Messy and hungry and needy— Wilson's always liked needy. House pushes him closer by the back of his neck, makes sure they're as close as possible without sitting on Wilson's lap.    
  
"You like needy," House tells him.    
  
Wilson cups his cheek. "Which is why I like you."   
  
He laughs. "That's fair."   
  
"You're the neediest person I know."   
  
He laughs softly and Wilson pulls him onto his lap with relative ease. "Are you sure about that? All your wives and exes are right there for that superlative."   
  
"Nah," Wilson replies. "You're the neediest, point blank."   
  
House clicks his tongue, amusement written over his face. "Well, sugar, let's make me a little needier."   
  
Wilson puts an arm around House's waist, fingers digging into the cloth of the hip of House's pants. "Of course, baby."   
  
"Really? Baby's the best pet name—"   
  
Wilson's eyes shine with amusement and with desire and with infatuation. "Of course, baby boy."   
  
House feels his face heat up. "Fuck you."   
  
Wilson snorts. "I wish you would."   
  
"I'm _trying to_ ," he replies, kissing him again and straddling him. "You're incredible."   
  
"You too, you immense pain in the ass."   
  
House clicks his tongue, lips curling into an easy smile. "I bet my strap-on will be a pain in the ass."   
  
Wilson simply lets out an exasperated and yet amused sigh and kisses House yet again, mumbling praises between each kiss.    
  
House digs his fingers into Wilson's clothed back, and the feeling of belonging there, sitting on his best friend's lap,  exacerbates.    
  
"I'm yours," he breathes after their umpteenth kiss.    
  
"You're mine," Wilson replies, pushing him impossibly closer.    
  
House gets higher on Wilson's hands roaming his body than he's ever gotten on anything else.    



End file.
